


make it jump with whatever

by pixiepower



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, pizza date 0218s, you could probably call this idolverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower
Summary: “Hyung, is my tongue blue?” Hansol asks, garbled and thick, and when Seokmin turns around he’s leaned back on the pillows, propped on his elbows, tongue hanging completely out of his mouth. His eyes are playful at the corners, and, oh, yeah, right. That was. That is.•Seokmin and Hansol get easily distracted. But it’s hard to care when you enjoy each other’s company so much.





	make it jump with whatever

**Author's Note:**

> title from “chilli” by seventeen
> 
> this is basically half-yours, pey. look at what has happened. rejoice, rejoice.

Hansol’s mouth is smeared with pizza grease and the table is all sticky from where it feels like every customer before them today must have spilled their soft drinks, and Seokmin is happy.

“Wait, wait,” Hansol is saying, and Seokmin takes a bite of pizza to stop the sound of his laughter from reverberating around the sparsely decorated shop. He nods, mouth full but eyes hopefully encouraging, so Hansol continues, “Remember, in America, when–” he’s laughing, now, and he stops himself with it, Seokmin feels warm– “when Shua-hyung—”

Seokmin swallows and nods vigorously. “How could I forget! Like, how bold can you get?”

Hansol’s eyes always scrunch up his whole face when he laughs, toothy and genuine, a perfect fit like a vintage t-shirt. He leans all the way over the table and hits Seokmin on the arm with the force of it, giggles erupting out of the both of them on contact, the electricity shocking down Seokmin’s arm and straight into his bloodstream. It feels warm all over, comforting, an electric blanket in the middle of winter. Hansol kind of has that effect.

“It was like, I saw the gears turning in everyone else’s head, like, ooh, if this works for him I’m just gonna leave my passport at the hotel next time!”

“And it didn’t, and he wasn’t even embarrassed,” Seokmin adds. The memory is still kind of impressive.

“It _ was _ worth a try,” Hansol agrees, lifting up another slice of pizza. 

Sauce slides down his hand onto his wrist, and he follows it back up its path with a broad lick of his tongue, the flat of it circling his pulse point, and Seokmin follows that with his eyes. Hansol doesn’t see it, doesn’t catch Seokmin’s gaze like he does when he does shit like this on purpose. But his wrist and hand are a little spit-wet and shiny when he’s finished, and it goes right through Seokmin.

So he leans forward and tells him so, under his breath so no one else hears. “That’s hot, Hansol-ah.”

Big eyes blink back at him, surprised and pleased in equal measure. His face is always so elastic, snapping into all of his emotions when he feels like being open. (He doesn’t always. Stoic, that model face he puts on. Jun says it’s an Aquarius thing, but Seokmin sure feels like he himself is easy to read, bleeding emotions all the time, so that can’t be. ‘It’s your Cancer moon,’ Jun says like an explanation, so, okay.)

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Hansol says, wiping at his arm with a napkin. It doesn’t sound like an excuse, or like he’s trying to shy away from it, but his cheeks are pink nonetheless. Seokmin reaches out and touches one, dinner-warm and blush-warm under his fingers.

Endeared, Seokmin replies, “I know.”

But he sees Hansol’s gaze drop to his mouth, and his eyes close a second too long at the touch of his hand, so Seokmin asks for the check anyway.

The car ride back is fidgety, and Hansol and Seokmin’s feet keep tapping against each other. Nudging playfully, shoes sliding along shoes, no matter how expensive their Balenciaga slides are. Hansol says that in English it’s called footsie, which is a cute name that matches the simple butterfly feeling it sends up through Seokmin’s stomach.

It’s easy, with them. It always is.

•

Seungkwan says when Hansol and Seokmin are together they chatter too much, which, pot, kettle, but he can’t really argue when it feels like the elevator is rattling with the volume of their conversation.

“The feeling of the song is so strong but the lyrics are so sad, Hansol. Why did you tell me to listen to that? I was half-crying in the gym running on the treadmill.”

“I just really liked the beat of it, you know?” Hansol is saying, and his face is reflected four thousand times, in all the mirrors papering the elevator. Seokmin likes his face from every angle.

The walk is familiar; they could probably do it with their eyes closed. Or with their eyes locked, as the case usually is.

No sooner does Seokmin punch in the passcode does Hansol get a hand on his waist. Hansol has to lean up to catch Seokmin’s mouth, and it’s easy for Seokmin’s hand to find its way to Hansol’s jaw, fingertips spanning to behind his ear. He senses when Hansol presses the back of his own hand along the doorframe, feeling around for the handle, and grins into their kiss when his arm tenses.

“Good job,” Seokmin murmurs into Hansol’s mouth, the corners of which quirk up at the edges at the praise.

“Always encouraging,” Hansol says, a smile in the reply, and his lips are soft as they slide together with Seokmin’s, part with them as they kiss deeper, more insistently.

The intent little _ click _ of the handle gives Seokmin a second to catch his breath, and he tugs Hansol by the hand into the room. A mere step behind, Hansol almost knocks into him when Seokmin whirls around, grabbing his face suddenly with both hands.

“Oh, my God!”

“What!” Seokmin says, startled.

Hansol laughs, eyes still a little wild. “You can’t be scared, _ you _ scared _ me!” _

“I didn’t know I had scared you!”

Between Seokmin’s hands, cheeks soft with it and lips pursed like a fish when he talks, Hansol’s face is all round and pressed-looking. Like a little fish sandwich. He must laugh under his breath, because Hansol says, voice squished like his face, “What?”

“Babo sandwich,” Seokmin says with a giggle, and Hansol squawks.

“I thought you were going to say something cheesy!”

“I’m not cheesy all the time!”

“You pretty much are, it’s nice. Pretty hyung,” Hansol sighs, and Seokmin remembers why he had gripped his face in the first place.

He tugs their faces together, kissing him with purpose, and Hansol hums into it, cheeks still smiling.

Hansol kisses like he does everything, at his own pace, with feeling and dedication. When they were younger and getting to know each other they used to make out for hours, Seokmin pulling away tingly and lightheaded, giddy that he found someone who liked to kiss as much as he did. 

Their kisses are still a lot like that, and they don’t break when they move to lie down on Seokmin’s bed. It’s second nature; Hansol spends a lot of time in his bed anyway, practically slept in it every night right after Seokmin started rooming by himself. Hansol likes other people’s beds, likes holding hands and wrapping arms around each other, and right now he slides his hands up Seokmin’s shirt as they kiss, tracing abstract patterns over his ribs and ratcheting Seokmin’s heartrate up.

Their legs tangle together, and before long Seokmin finds himself moving with Hansol, tongues licking into each other’s mouths lazily and starting to get a little worked up. It doesn’t take much, honestly, he’s kind of always resting just this side of horny, but making out for a while usually gets him there a lot quicker. Hansol’s breathing is starting to get a little quick, hitching when Seokmin nips at his bottom lip, and his hips grind up a little, half-against the crease of Seokmin’s thigh in his joggers.

“Can I take these off?” Hansol murmurs.

Nodding, Seokmin says, “Definitely.”

Hansol wriggles around the bed, shucking his own pants and then tugging down at Seokmin’s, where he’s half-hard already. Looking down at it, Hansol hums, a little _ mmm _that makes Seokmin bite his lip.

“Kinda want you to fuck me tonight,” Hansol says, plain and smiling, and Seokmin nods some more.

“Let me get a condom, hold on.” Seokmin reaches halfway to his side table before realizing, muttering, “Oh, shit, I don’t have any in here. Wait—”

He vaguely remembers putting a loose one in his pants pocket, to remind himself to buy more. Things like that usually jog his memory, the presence of physical reminders, but Hansol was a little distracting all night. Seokmin would never blame him, he’s blameable for hardly anything, but. Seokmin rummages in his pocket, hanging half over the bed, and pulls it out of his pocket with triumph.

It’s extremely short-lived. 

In Seokmin’s hand is a red pepper flake packet from the pizza shop, and there is nothing else but lint when he empties his pockets. Well, fuck. He closes his hand around it and tries not to laugh, and when he hoists himself back up on the bed Hansol is playing with one of his own nipples. That… yeah.

“Vernonie,” Seokmin says, and his tone sounds rough for several reasons.

“Yeah, hyung?” Hansol says. He rubs a hand over his face as though to clear his mind of fog.

Seokmin holds up the packet in his hand, willing his voice to stay even as the little foil-paper square dangles from his fingers. “Does this look like a condom to you?”

Hansol peers up, squinting through the dim light of the room, quiet. Then he sees it. He laughs, once, a bark of a thing that punches out of him like he can’t help it. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

Try as he might, Seokmin can’t keep it together. “I know! Why would you—” and he collapses atop Hansol, hand gripping Hansol’s hip, which squirms a little under Seokmin’s touch still, dick still mostly hard in his boxers despite the worsening situation. He moves his hand up higher, toward Hansol’s ribs, and Hansol laughs again.

“It’s just… Like… No one in the development phase at the pizza shop chili flake packet factory looked at that design and said, ‘People are going to try to fuck after going to get pizza and this is going to ruin their life?’” 

Hansol takes the packet out of Seokmin’s hand and holds it so the light on the side table glints off the foil, then snorts and tosses it aside. He sighs and props himself up on one arm, looks at Seokmin with those dongsaeng eyes.

“I mean, I’m okay if we don’t keep going,” Seokmin says. “Or I’m happy to suck you off, and we’ll call it a night.”

“Or we can go to the convenience store and then… come back,” Hansol says, sliding his hand up Seokmin’s thigh and chewing on his lip.

“Or we can do that,” Seokmin laughs, choking on it when Hansol keeps going, runs his fingertips over his hard-on in his briefs. “Okay, okay, yeah. Let’s do that.”

They trip back into their pants, Hansol using Seokmin’s arm for balance, and Seokmin accidentally tugs on Hansol’s beanie instead of his own.

•

“Oh, that looks cute on you,” Hansol says in the fluorescent light of the convenience store, like he just realized they swapped beanies, adjusting his mask with one hand.

“Everything looks cute on you,” Seokmin counters quickly like a retort. Without thinking, his hand goes up to resecure his own mask too.

Hansol laughs at his tone. “You’re so nice, hyung.”

It’s true, though. The door had dinged when they set off the pressure mat and Hansol said he liked the sound, maybe Jihoonie-hyung could sample it for a track, and his eyes had crinkled with a smile over his mask when they wandered through to the back of the store.

_ He looks like a boyfriend, _Seokmin’s mind helpfully supplies, as though they can use words like that, as though that idea could exist for them. The more he thinks about it, the less he thinks Hansol would mind it. Maybe he’d be excited. His mom would probably like it, too. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Hansol laughs, tugging on Seokmin’s-Hansol’s beanie playfully.

Seokmin’s glad for the mask, so Hansol can’t see his blush. “Remember when your mom commented on one of Minghao’s Instagram posts and he cried and called his mom?”

Hansol hums affirmatively, bending to look at the banana milk. “I called my mom, too. We both cried. It was kind of nice that something so simple reminded us how much we care about each other.”

They wander through the aisles. Seokmin likes that Hansol can just say stuff like that, honest and loving and kind. It makes him fond. Sometimes Seokmin opens his mouth and all of his words fall out, regardless of what part of his brain they come from, but Hansol’s more mindful. Maybe it’s due to having two languages running through it, two rivers running parallel, intertwining at some points, that Hansol has to look down at his path before sailing. But what he chooses to say never fails to make Seokmin think about how good he is.

“Oh, shit!” Hansol exclaims suddenly. “This store has slushies!”

That’s rare; most ice places close early, once kids are home after school. “I’ll get you one,” Seokmin says quickly, and Hansol reaches out for his hand, twines their fingers and squeezes.

He chooses blue, and Seokmin gets the lemonade one, and for a minute they’re still noisy, but with the wet slurping sound of blended ice through their straws instead of with conversation.

It doesn’t last long. “Look at this,” Seokmin says excitedly, and tugs Hansol by the hand, pointing at a display of character straws next to the slushie machine. They’re all colorful, an assortment of characters and shapes and squiggly plastic, and Hansol looks at home among them, picking one up with a little Pikachu figurine on it. Seokmin is overtaken by the sudden feeling of wanting to take a picture, tie-dye shirt and rainbow silly straws and slushie and Hansol.

“These are so good, Seok! I wouldn’t even know which one to pick.”

Seokmin says, “Me neither,” but, if Hansol asks, he’ll be honest and say he isn’t really trying to choose.

“I wish I had five mouths so I could use all of them at once,” Hansol sighs, and it makes Seokmin’s eyes snap up. 

There are a lot of very good things a hot boy with five mouths could get up to, Seokmin thinks. Right. That’s really why they came. Meeting Seokmin’s eyes, Hansol takes a beat and then snorts, bursting into laughter as he also seems to remember the task at hand.

They move quickly, paying in cash and heading back in the next five minutes.

•

“Hyung, is my tongue blue?” Hansol asks, garbled and thick, and when Seokmin turns around he’s leaned back on the pillows, propped on his elbows, tongue hanging completely out of his mouth. His eyes are playful at the corners, and, oh, yeah, right. That was. That is. 

Seokmin really likes the bright way Hansol is looking up at him through his eyelashes, like he knows he’s making his I-suck-dick face.

It takes Seokmin one second to lock the door, and two steps to cross the room.

Hansol’s mouth is blue-sweet-tart-hot, artificial in all the cloying ways the man himself isn’t, and Seokmin chases it with the tip of his tongue, sticky and openmouthed. Arms wind around Seokmin’s neck and tug him down, legs in a lanky tangle with Hansol’s for the second time tonight.

“Seok, hyung,” Hansol says against his mouth, breathless, moving an arm to ruck up Seokmin’s shirt. 

Fingers find Seokmin’s nipple, and the feeling has him rolling his hips on instinct, his little huff of air mingling with Hansol’s chuckle in the space between his face and Hansol’s. Before long, Hansol has their clothes off. Hansol likes to be the one to undress them, likes when Seokmin tells him how good he is for it, and Seokmin likes the feeling of Hansol’s hands sliding over his body, warm and dry. Not that he could ever deny Hansol anything anyway.

Hands move down to Seokmin’s hardening cock, and he moans low. Hansol kisses him, deep and messy, sweet-stickiness giving way to sweet warmth the more they lick into each other, and his hand speeds up on Seokmin. Keening whines escape the back of his throat, and Hansol swallows them all.

“You sound so good for me, hyung,” he pulls back to giggle, and Seokmin chuckles breathlessly. “I love when you sing, that’s my favorite, but this is music too.”

Laughing a little, Seokmin starts, “That’s—” but it glottal stops into a groan when Hansol brings one hand to his mouth and licks a fat stripe over his palm, dripping wet with it. It’s hot, it’s _ hot. _

It’s hotter when the hand on his dick goes slick suddenly, the wet slide of Hansol’s hand smooth and practiced, and Seokmin suddenly feels way too close to coming. He reaches over for the convenience store bag, hand shaking when he feels past the character straws for the condoms.

“You treat me like I can blow through all these in one night,” Seokmin gets out, and the bag crinkles tellingly. He sets the box of condoms down on the bedside table, popping the side open for access, and Hansol’s soft smile turns into his lopsided grin.

“Now _ that’s _ an idea.”

“Ddollie, I’m not as young as I once was,” Seokmin jokes, voice pitched low. “I’m a missionary-sex once-a-week before-nine-p.m. kind of man now.”

Hansol’s thumb circles the head of Seokmin’s cock lazily, and Hansol looks him in the eyes, like he’s thinking. Envisioning something. “I can spice up your sex life. That’s what a younger man is for,” he says, meandering.

“And?” Seokmin prompts, voice low still, but uneven, kicking up a shaky half-step when Hansol’s thumb drags over the slit of his dick. “Fuck.”

“And I think you’ll look hot when your hair starts to grey.”

What a thing to say. Seokmin is quiet, now, for what feels like the first time all night. His breathing is loud, labored in time with each slow pump of Hansol’s hand, and he lets his eyes close, focuses on the feeling of Hansol beneath him, hand working his cock, the other hand running fingertips-first up the knobs of his spine to trace his hairline on the nape of his neck. He feels it, warm and tingly, and Seokmin’s head is starting to feel a little floaty.

“Look at me, hyung?” Hansol says, soft.

When Seokmin opens his eyes, Hansol kisses him, leaning up like they do when they’re both standing. The first time they kissed, they were so young, Hansol was so much shorter. They’ve caught up, closer now, two plants growing together in the same light, but the reach still makes Seokmin smile.

Hansol smiles back and says, “I’m gonna get ready a little bit, I’ll be right back.”

Seokmin rolls over, lets Hansol shake out his limbs and follows his mouth with lazy kisses as he stands up and heads to the bathroom. Indulges in an eyeful of his ass in his weird little boxers. They have cats with laser eyes all over them and look a little like the same type of ones Soonyoung bought in New York, but less ugly. It makes Seokmin grin.

One hand loose on himself, Hansol’s saliva going a little cold in the air conditioning, Seokmin spends the time scrolling through his phone, and picks out one of the playlists Hansol is always sending him, the one with Aminé and Kehlani and Heize. The sound drifts out of the speakers, and Seokmin feels the beat pulse through the room. Hansol has such good taste in music, has such a heart for the energy that thrums between people.

Seokmin posts the picture he took of them in the pizza shop, and adds a tongue emoji because looking at it right above Hansol’s tight-smile photo face sends a little thrill through him. Mingyu isn’t the only one who can use horny emojis.

When Hansol reemerges, he’s naked, now, but his beanie is still on. Seokmin laughs kindly and points it out, and Hansol blushes, taking it off quickly.

“Come here,” Seokmin says, and sees Hansol’s gaze drop to his hand, fingertips running absently over his dick to keep himself hard.

“God, I can’t wait for you to be inside me,” Hansol groans. 

Well, Seokmin sure won’t need to work so much to stay hard if Hansol keeps saying shit like that. He falls into Seokmin’s arms, letting Seokmin flip them over so Hansol is underneath him again and kissing him softly. Sweetly. 

“How do you want it?” 

Hansol turns and lies on his stomach, stretching out like a cat and wiggling his ass playfully. “Like this.”

Seokmin laughs. “Mm, handsome and lazy. You’ve got it all.”

He reaches out for the lube and pours it over one hand, sliding in easily where Hansol clearly started to prep already. Seokmin makes a little noise, surprised and pleased.

“S-see, I can work hard, _ oh,” _Hansol stammers, pushing back against two of Seokmin’s long fingers.

“You always work hard, Hansolie.” It comes out achingly honest.

Seokmin’s free hand slides across the pillowcase and thread through Hansol’s hair, flat in some places and sticking up in equal measure from wearing his hat. It’s getting a little long, curling up under his ears. Like a heartthrob from the 1990s, a poster from a magazine for teenagers in America. Like in that old movie Joshua played for him and Seungcheol, _ Bye Bye Birdie._ Seokmin tugs a little bit like he knows Hansol likes, and Hansol groans predictably at the feeling. His back arches, pushing his face a little deeper into the pillow, and Seokmin sucks in a sharp breath.

“Your hair is so pretty,” Seokmin says distractedly, and Hansol laughs breathlessly, muffled a little by the pillow.

Raising his head for clarity, Hansol says, “I’ll teach you how to braid after you fuck me,” and it sends a little thrill through Seokmin’s stomach. It’s probably weird to be almost as excited to cuddle after sex as he is actually have the sex, but Hansol sounds sincere. He follows through.

Or, he will, anyway.

For now Hansol lets out a hoarse little moan when Seokmin reaches around and strokes his dick a few times, knees spreading apart at the touch and kicking his hips back a little. Seokmin pulls out his other hand, runs his thumb over his hole where it’s lube-slick, and Hansol moans louder. Noisy. It makes Seokmin smile against Hansol’s spine when he bends to kiss it.

“You ready, baby?” Seokmin asks, soft, rolling on the condom, and Hansol nods.

Despite all the stop-start of the night, Seokmin knows it’ll go quick as soon as he slides inside Hansol and hears the ragged moan punch out of him, and from the way his heart flips when Hansol laughs through the tail end of it, exhaling when Seokmin draws back and pushes back in.

Hansol’s hands move behind his back, together at the small of his back like he’s handcuffed, which sure is a thought. They open and close, wanting for something, and Seokmin reaches out and twines their fingers. Hansol hums happily, and it turns into a whimper when Seokmin tugs them back toward himself, leverage for his thrusts as they get deeper.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s good,” Hansol says, voice pitched a little high as he buries his face in the pillow.

It’s fucking stunning, is what it is, the line of Hansol’s back, the way his hips rock back as Seokmin’s hips snap forward, the tight way Hansol squeezes Seokmin’s hands in his. Trusting and comfortable, moreso than anything else. Seokmin swallows hard, to quiet his own moaning, and to think about how good this is despite how badly he wants to be kissing Hansol right now. He wishes there were a way to kiss him all the time. Physically speaking, there is no arrangement of limbs sufficient enough to fuck someone from behind and also kiss them tenderly, and Seokmin thinks absently that that was a flaw in human design.

His hands jerk when Hansol grinds his hips back to take Seokmin in deeper, and Hansol’s arms pull back with it, lifting his head by the shoulders. “More, deeper,” he whines, face a little shy against the pillowcase.

Seokmin leans in further than he should, overextends his back a little to kiss Hansol’s palms. Figures Chan won’t ask if he has to stretch a little more before practice tomorrow. The feeling of Hansol around him is overwhelming, each purposeful touch warm like the pizza, like the kisses, like the buzz of fluorescent lights. Staving off his orgasm seems like a Herculean task, and Hansol is always giggly and flattered when Seokmin comes quick, letting it go to his ego a bit.

“Hansol-ah, you feel so good,” Seokmin gasps, scooting his legs closer together for comfort.

The angle changes how he feels inside Hansol, who exhales sharply. “You’re close? Me too,” Hansol says, voice playful and rough in equal measure. It’s low, and sexy, and Seokmin moves a hand up to brush Hansol’s wild hair out of his eyes. His hand tightens when Hansol clenches around him, pulling at his locks just enough, and Hansol comes, quiet, lips parted and eyelashes fluttering.

Seeing it always pushes Seokmin closer, closer, and he gently pulls out of Hansol before he gets too oversensitive, stroking himself with only a little desperation. 

When Hansol laughs as he recovers from his orgasm, pushes his hair back with one hand and grins lazily at Seokmin, says, “So hot, Dokyeomie-hyung,” that’s it. When Seokmin comes, Hansol’s leaned up close, and Seokmin whimpers into Hansol’s mouth as he’s kissed through the comedown. 

“So, so worth it,” Hansol grins, pressing a kiss against the corner of Seokmin’s mouth, almost chaste. It’s cute. Seokmin agrees, taking deep breaths as he ties off the condom.

They laugh as they wipe up together, and fall back the way they started, tangled up and kissing sweetly in Seokmin’s bed.

Hansol makes good on his word, showing Seokmin how he braids the lanyards on his keys together, and letting Seokmin practice on Hansol’s hair. They’re tiny and messy, one on either side of his face, and Hansol laughs when Seokmin takes a selca together with him on his phone. The look on Hansol’s face is all fucked-out and sleepy, toothy smile beaming up from his nest on Seokmin’s chest, and the braids are half-hidden under the rest of his hair. Seokmin wants to keep it forever, hopes the cloud keeps it safe like Wonwoo says it does.

Laughing, Hansol says, “It reminds me of when Sofia was still learning braiding. My hair was really long back then, good to practice on. Maybe I’ll grow mine out too, like Jeonghan-hyung.”

Seokmin nudges his shoulder and loosens the braids, leaving the hair all crinkled above Hansol’s ears. Drops a kiss on the shell of both of his ears, just because. Hansol smiles up fondly, eyes closed.

“I love you, Dokyeomie-hyung,” Hansol mumbles sleepily, burying his face in Seokmin’s chest right over where he thinks Hansol can hear his heart hammering.

Seokmin kisses the crown of Hansol’s head, nose buried in his soft hair. Murmurs, “I love you too,” quiet quiet quiet.

He thinks he feels Hansol smile into his chest, but it could also just be the way his face goes slack and soft snoring sounds start to float out.

“You’re not gonna shower, Hansol-ah? That’s a little gross,” Seokmin chuckles. It is. But it’s his bed, and there’s a Hansol in it, so who is he to complain?

There’s a little snuffle and a dissenting noise, and Hansol’s leg is thrown over Seokmin’s middle. Hands tighten around his torso, warm. Seokmin wraps an arm around Hansol and closes his eyes. He smiles, and laughs, soft.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/eightpaint/) and [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/)!


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